Hidden in plain sight: The unexpected joys of geocaching 

Twenty-five stories above Lake Michigan, overlooking a sea of pedestrians wandering Chicago's cityscape below, I pondered the cryptic message on my screen and its promise of accessible adventure. 

It was a Tuesday afternoon, the kind of summer day that makes you forget February ever existed. The humidity of the season had lifted. The sky was unnaturally blue. I watched longingly as a fleet of boats carved neat diagonals through the water. This was a day meant to be spent outside, not trapped inside a climate-controlled cubicle. 

My gaze left the window and went back to my phone. The GPS signal indicated that I was less than a mile from my first geocaching expedition. All I had to do was shut my laptop and enter a world hiding in plain sight: a city layered with secrets, where park benches double as drop points and lampposts conceal hidden treasures waiting to be discovered.

For those who have been living under a rock (coincidentally, a perfectly valid hiding spot for a geocache), geocaching  is the world's largest treasure hunting game. Players use the Geocaching app to find hidden containers (called geocaches or caches) placed in parks, city streets and other public spaces. (Also, the International Space Station.) 

Caches can range from small, film-canister-sized containers to large boxes filled with trinkets to trade. Once players find the geocache, they sign the logbook, put the cache back as they found it, and log their find online. The global game, which launched in 2000 and features 3.4 million hidden caches across more than 190 countries, transforms ordinary landscapes into a dynamic game board, encouraging exploration while fostering a deeper connection with the surrounding environment. 

Emerging from the sea of verticals that line Wacker Drive, I studied the app on my phone with intense focus, its interface displaying a navigation overlay that guided me toward the precise location of the hidden cache.

With a difficulty rating of 1.0 and terrain rating of 1.5, this particular target seemed like an ideal maiden voyage for a novice geocacher. “Great for new cachers,” the app confirmed. “Easy to find or solve for an experienced geocacher.” 

I set off on foot and tapped around the app for more clues. “This cache is placed at a nice corner in the city,” the cache owner had written. “It also happens to be extremely close to where I live. So much so, that if you message me while you’re at this cache (or ideally beforehand), I’ll stop by and say hi if I’m free.” 

This personal touch added an unexpected layer of social engagement to what I had initially perceived as a solitary pursuit. “Hello! I’m on my way to find your cache!” I wrote, praying that I had used the correct terminology. I monitored the blue dot on my screen as I inched closer to the designated area, the urban soundscape humming around me. 

I crossed a bridge over the Chicago River and headed deeper into the architectural canyon of the city. A mix of locals and tourists lingered in the streets, enjoying a moment of calm before the evening rush began. By the time I arrived at the posted coordinates, the initial ambivalence of an unfamiliar pursuit had morphed into an eager anticipation. I scanned the bustling intersection, my eyes now trained to perceive the mundane with a newfound investigative curiosity, searching for anomalies that might betray the cache's whereabouts. 

The search proved more difficult than I expected. Despite this being an “easy” cache, I struggled to find the elusive container, my scrutiny intensifying with each passing minute as I evaluated every lamppost, bench and planter for a telltale sign of its presence.

The app said I was 2 feet away, but all I saw was an unremarkable STOP sign. The only deviation from the norm, I eventually detected, was a plastic blue bottle cap resting suspiciously on top of one of its bolts. 

My attention, previously fixated on the digital compass, now homed in on this subtle incongruity, recognizing that such an unassuming object could very well be the key to unlocking the hidden treasure. I reached for the cap and found that it was attached to a small container wedged into the hollow of the signpost. A mixture of triumph and exhilaration washed over me as I removed the cache from its concealed cavity and twisted open the cap. 

Inside the container, a small piece of paper crammed with the names of previous finders and the dates of their discoveries confirmed the successful completion of my inaugural geocaching endeavor. I messaged the cache owner, who promptly came down to greet me. It was as if I were being initiated into a secret society of like-minded explorers: no longer a bumbling interloper, but a newly minted member of the geocaching community. 

“You’re actually catching me at a funny time," the cache's owner, Robert Winslow*, told me upon his arrival. A veteran geocacher with over 15 years of finds under his belt, Winslow, a doctor at a nearby university, recounted how he had spent the morning hunting for geocaches with a friend near the Indiana border and recently returned from a trip to Brazil, where he had successfully located a cache of particular significance. 

In 2001, as part of a promotion for the movie “Planet of the Apes,” a series of 14 Project A.P.E. geocaches were placed in the United States, Brazil, Japan, Australia and the United Kingdom. Today, only two remain: one in São Paulo and one in Washington state, serving as relics of geocaching’s early history and a testament to its enduring global reach.

Winslow had already found the one in Washington, he said, making his recent discovery in Brazil a personal milestone in his extensive geocaching journey.  

“The trip wasn’t based around the geocache, but I knew I was going to be in the area,” said Winslow, who rented a car and drove to a state park 4 hours outside São Paulo to seek out the celebrated cache. 

“It was in the middle of nowhere. No cell service,” Winslow continued, adding that he'd needed a guide with a machete to clear a path to the cache. “I don’t think the average person is going to be doing that." 

But then again, this was no ordinary find. In addition to the historical significance and remote location, the pursuit took on an additional meaning, Winslow said. It was his 12,000th confirmed cache. 

“This is my big hobby,” Winslow said with a knowing smile. “When I visited Japan, I went geocaching in Japan. When I visited Australia, I went geocaching in Australia.” 

Under normal traveling conditions, Winslow explained, geocaching mostly serves as the connective tissue between various landmarks. “Essentially, I make a map of what I want to see in the city, and then I look at the geocaching map and say, ‘Okay, today I’m going to go to this famous church, and then I’m going to go to this museum, and, oh, look, there’s four geocaches on the way in between.’”  

Winslow admitted that he's as guilty as anyone of following a predetermined set of attractions and overlooking the subtle details beyond the usual sites. Geocaching, he said, naturally pushes people beyond homogenized must-see lists, compelling participants to delve deeper into local environments and uncover hidden facets of a city or region that traditional tourism might overlook. 

“It gives you a better feel for the place you’re visiting,” he said. “It’s the coolest thing, because rather than saying, ‘Hey, I went to Paris and I saw the Eiffel Tower,’ it’s more like, ‘Hey, I went to Paris and I walked around all these residential blocks and I saw all of these small shops and families walking around.’ 

“You get a better sense of the local community," he continued. "Or, at the very least, you can explore a neighborhood that you wouldn’t have thought to visit. It’s cool to get off the beaten path and see something different.” 

For geocachers like Winslow, the payoff is both a shift in perspective and the sense of community that transcends geographical boundaries. Every day brings with it a new expedition waiting to happen, whether it’s a far-flung location or within walking distance of home.

The prize, to the extent that there is one, is the satisfaction of completing a task, along with the chance of having a genuine human moment—two outcomes often realized despite our phones, not because of them. Like any worthwhile pursuit, the journey itself is the true reward. 

As our conversation ended and I returned the cache to its hiding place, I shifted my attention to an upcoming trip to Milan scheduled for later this summer. I had already booked a tour to visit the Duomo and secured a reservation at a Stanley Tucci-approved restaurant for dinner. But now I found myself reconsidering my itinerary, and whether geocaching could lead me somewhere less popular but just as appealing. 

Sifting through the hundreds of caches available online near my hotel, I found a listing located 40 minutes away by car, hidden inside an abandoned mental hospital—a site the cache description claimed to have once been frequented by Napoleon Bonaparte. 

Logs on the cache page alluded to the challenges and eerie atmosphere of the location. Some expressed frustration that their efforts had not yet yielded a successful find, while others claimed one of the clues was no longer there. 

The promise of adventure only made the cache more alluring. The mixture of 'Found it' logs, DNFs (did not find) and tips from geocachers created a narrative around the elusive goal. Community, as Winslow had taught me, is a central element of the geocaching experience: a network of individuals collaborating for the thrill of discovery.  

Evidence of this communal spirit can be found throughout the message boards, embodied by a recurring acronym often included in logs. An expression of gratitude, it reads: "TFTC"—Thanks For The Cache.  

*Name has been changed for anonymity.